


Feather Fans And Garter Belts

by QueenoftheHobbits



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Reader is a burlesque dancer and pre-serum steve is enamoredm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-07-16 16:44:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7275919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheHobbits/pseuds/QueenoftheHobbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers always seems to come back to your club, he always watches you perform, he always draws you, always walks you home, and he always worms his way into your burlesque dancing heart. Every. Single. Time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spawned from headcanons that were made on my blog @imaginesofeveryfandom over on tumblr :) Rated Mature for the moment because i'm not sure where it could go!

He was pretty sure he was going to die either from embarrassment or one of his many ailments, maybe a heart attack, cause of course Bucky would drag him to a burlesque club on his birthday and of course he’d do it mostly because it would embarrass Steve...and of course Steve wasn’t sure where to look or what to do when presented with barely clothed beautiful women dancing. 

But it wasn’t embarrassment only that Steve was feeling...it was absolute awe...you, the dancer in front of him, were beautiful...and he just...it wasn’t the type of awe that most of the men in the club probably felt, raging lust and whatnot, but rather...rather it was this itching desire to draw you over and over again, to make sure you got home safe, to see you smile a real smile rather than the forced sultry one. He wanted to draw the curve of your hip, the way your costume glinted in the light, the sharp flick of your make up and the soft waves of your hair...he wanted to draw the curve of your breast, and the length of your leg, and the lines of your fingers. But nothing about the way his gaze flickered over you was predatory and overtly lustful, but rather the shocked awe of a man admiring a master piece that he’d like to recreate on paper. It had in fact caught your eye the first night he was there with his friend, and you dare say it was the only gaze you’d ever felt in the last few years in that club that made you genuinely blush. Rather than want to run and hide. 

Maybe if it had been just you and him, maybe if you’d wanted to dance for him he’d have felt more aroused, more like all the other men on the edge of their seats, but honestly while his difficulty breathing was certainly in part due to your partially clothed body...he was pretty sure it was also because he’d never see a more beautiful women and he’d never wanted to draw someone and care for someone so much. Also probably his asthma playing up in the smokey and heavily perfumed room. 

The was the first night he’d been dragged along by Bucky...and at first he’d thought he’d never go back to the low budget, shady club, that probably didn’t pay you enough (definitely didn’t pay you enough), and then he’d felt the urge. To see you, to draw you and it felt all kinds of wrong to Steve, but he couldn’t help himself from going back. You, yourself, were happy to see him in the crowd, a face that didn’t leer at you like you were a piece of meat, a face that admired your dancing, the dancing that you loved, a face that admired you as art rather than as a body to get off on. And then you’d been dancing and clocked that he was drawing you and it made you flush again as you moved...because he was drawing you and it was surprisingly flattering. It made you put more effort into your show, into the rehearsed moves and feather fans, more effort for him because he deserved your best even in the low lit, shady club that didn’t even name you or personify you, just treat you like another donkey to be worked to the bone. 

But he admired you. And you admired him. Sure, he wasn’t like the other guys. He wasn’t tall, he wasn’t strong, he wasn’t broad, he was thin and gaunt, and short...but there was a cute charm about him. About the blue in his eyes that shined from the lighting, and the blonde in his hair that fell in his face as he drew you. You didn’t know his name, you didn’t know a thing about him, but he was already a million times better than most of the men who came to watch you perform. He never jeered, never looked at you like he wanted to eat you, never made you feel uncomfortable in a bad way. He was the type of man you’d want to perform for, one who appreciated your dancing because that’s all you wanted to do perform and dance and be respected for that. 

He visited the club a few times, drawing you and that’s how he found himself being escorted into your changing room after hours one evening. Some of the girls seemed to think he was harmless...which well he was...and he’d expressed his desire to speak to you and it was so obvious that he only wanted to speak that they didn’t mind showing him to your room. By the time he had the courage to knock, hands tightly gripping his sketchbook, you’d gotten into your more civilian clothes.

The knock had surprised you though, not many people ever knocked on your dressing room door, and certainly not after hours...not many people were allowed to. But you found yourself pleasantly surprised when you opened the door and looked to find the small blonde man standing there awkwardly, tightly clutching his sketchbook. He was even cuter up close. 

“Hi?”

“...I’m...I’m Steve...Steve Rogers, I just...I just wanted to say that you’re dancing is real good and...and you’re very...very pretty...and I hope, I hope it’s okay that I draw you?” He was bright red by the time he finished, red from the tips of his ears down to what you could see of his neck peeking out from his shirt. Steve’s hands shook, and his chest hurt, and he was sure he might just collapse any moment because you were even more beautiful up close even in a simple day dress, and you were looking at him with big, sweet eyes and he’d never been interested in a girl as much as he was with you in that moment. He was just a simple artist with a long list of ailments that might kill him, and you were...he was pretty sure you were an angel of some kind.

“Y/N, thank you that’s...that’s so sweet of you!” You paused for a moment, biting your lip briefly in thought, “I tell you what? You can draw me...as much as you like...if I get to see them sometime?” You wanted to see the drawings sure...but that wasn’t the real reason you asked. A date or two with this guy seemed sweet...even more so if he treated you with the same respect he always seemed to give you whether you were dancing or standing right in front of him. It also helped that he was cute and not bad on the eyes, and that you could tell he was interested...more than just interested even. 

“Like...like a date?” Steve was pretty sure he was sweating, was he sweating? Please, god, don’t let it be noticeable that he’s sweating. Girls just didn’t ask him on dates...let alone pretty girls who danced in burlesque clubs and smiled sweetly like they were made of pure sugar...God, if he even had half Bucky’s confidence in that moment...

“Yeah, like a date.” You were almost sure that the way you bit your lip and looked at him was reminiscent of a tiger looking at its breakfast...because hell if you weren’t interested in gobbling up this cutie...but you were also interested in talking to him, looking at his work, listening to his interests. You wanted to get to know Steve Rogers. 

“I...that...yeah, I...tha-” You cut him off, stepping out of your dressing room and closing the door behind you, your bag slung over your shoulder. You looped your arm through his.

“How about you walk me home, Stevie?”

“Sure thing!” It was endearing how eager he was to do such a simple thing, but you supposed that maybe with his smaller stature other women brushed him off a lot...seemed a waste if you were being honest, this sweetie seemed like 10 times the man then most you ran into. Sweet, small, but definitely a gentleman and definitely an interesting fellow.

You found rather quickly as you walked down the dimly lit streets of Brooklyn that Steve Rogers was a nervous talker, walking with you arm in arm he just kept talking and you found it quite lovely. He filled the silence with talk of his best friend, who you found to be the brown haired man from his first visit to the club, he talked about his late mother, his art, he talked about Brooklyn and any little thing that came to his mind and while you couldn’t really get a word in edgewise you found yourself not minding because you wanted to listen rather than talk any way. 

Your apartment on 53rd street wasn’t much, small, brick, run down, and in need of some love and care. But it was home, and it did the trick and really inside wasn’t so bad once you got past the peeling wall paper that needed replacing. You found yourself lingering outside the front door when you and Steve finally reached it. You didn’t quite want to leave him just yet, but you knew it would cause a scandal with your neighbour Ms. Esther if you invited a young man up that she’d never see before or even heard you talk about before. Better to wait for a bit first, you thought. 

You toed the stone step outside your building, one hand on the door handle. “Thank you for walking me home, Stevie...”

“My pleasure, can’t let you walk home alone at this hour...besides, it’s not a chore when it’s a...a beautiful women like yourself.” The compliments didn’t come so easily from his lips, but that’s what made them so much better than any old compliment, because you could see him twisting it around in his head. What was the nicest, least creepy way to say it? What was the best thing to say? It was so obvious that he cared what you thought that it put you at ease. 

“So...how about you come take me to dinner Wednesday? 7 O’clock?” Wednesday was one of your days off, not much in the way of patronage mid week, the weekends, however? Those were a big deal. Business men off work, absconding husbands, young men, old men, all sorts. Weekends were where the patronage was. 

“Really?”

“Yeah...really...unless you don’t want to?” You had a flicker of doubt for a moment, maybe you were forcing him into something that he didn’t want to do, that was the last thing you wanted to do to the poor boy. Maybe you were being overzealous?

“No! I...I want to...i’m just...girls don’t, they don’t tend to want to go on a date with me...” Right, you forgot that this was Steve Rogers and he wasn’t exactly John from down the street, he was his own unique type of person...and not the type with a stature that most girls looked for. Not that that was a problem, you supposed it just took the right type of person, right? 

“Their loss, my gain then, Mmm? So, Wednesday, 7 O’clock?” You watched his hands grip that sketchbook tighter again, they were such thin hands, large, but thin, and you could see them shake. Whether that was natural or not was anyone’s guess. 

“Yeah, yeah, Wednesday, 7 O’clock.” 

“Goodnight, Steve.” You turned the handle to your apartment, walking inside and waving him goodnight before walking your way up to your apartment.

“G...g’night!” You wouldn’t see Steven Rogers with his hands in his pockets, walking down the street in a daze only to realise he was going the wrong way and turn back around. You wouldn’t see Steven Rogers laugh out loud in the realisation that he had a date. But then he wouldn’t see you collapse against your closed front door giggling to yourself about the sweet man who watched your shows and liked to draw you in a dim lit smokey room. 


	2. Chapter 2

You saw Steve Rogers between that night he first walked you home and your date. Sometimes he’d come to see your shows, sitting down with his sketch book, and other times he’d show up after hours and the show was done to walk you all the way home, making sure you got in safely...and some of those nights he’d slip a piece of sketching paper in your hand covered in graphite and purposely placed pencil marks that showed your figure dancing in a smokey room in glittering clothing and with garter belts and feather fans. Every drawing he did of you looked so incredibly glamorous. 

You kept them all...kept every single piece of paper he’d given you and kept them in a keepsake box at the end of your bed. Some nights you’d pull a few out and they’d make you feel better, remind you that there were people out there who cared for others in the most innocent ways and who didn’t leer and sneer and make people feel uncomfortable every day. They reminded you that there was a man out there that found you beautiful in the most innocent and sweet sense rather than the most debauched. That someone appreciated your job for more than just their own personal pleasure...and it reminded you to smile even when you didn’t want to.

Steve’s dedication to walking you home every night, even though he was clearly nervous was admirable, but it also did make you feel safer even though logically you knew he couldn’t do much if someone did decide to attack you. Maybe it was the understanding that Steve Rogers would do his best to defend you even if the odds aren’t in his favour. That even if it meant he might end up in hospital he’d fight for you, fight to protect you. It made you feel special, happy, and very beautiful. 

Wednesday finally came around and you spent the whole morning anxiously pacing back and forth in your apartment and trying to distract yourself with reading and other little things that you could do. You’d sit and listen to the radio, or you even went next door to talk to Ms. Esther, who gave you advice on what men to avoid as if Steve Rogers was one of them. Which he most certainly was not. 

Waiting for 7 O’clock to come around was absolutely horrendous, you flicked through about 5 different dresses before coming to the one you felt best in, and then spent even longer trying to pin your hair right and do your make-up. Getting ready had never been harder, and you supposed it just showed how much you cared about Steve’s opinion, that you cared what he thought. Had he been there he probably would have told you that he didn’t care what you wore, you’d be stunning anyway. Although with more stammering and blushing. 

7 O’clock had rolled around and a knock could be heard from your apartment door. It was a quiet knock, unsure and tentative, and it had your heart lurching in your chest. For someone who danced in front of people for a living, and in very little clothing you’d think that you’d be able to keep calm in the face of a date...except something about your date in particular made you giddy like a school girl and nervous as a babe. It was quite ironic when Steve Rogers probably had never made anyone nervous before in his life. 

When you opened the door you were happily stunned at the mismatched bouquet of flowers the man was holding in front of him. They were a little wilted and not the best flowers in the world, but that didn’t matter because no one had ever brought you flowers before...you loved them. 

“H-hi.”

“Hi, Stevie...” There was a pregnant pause between the two of you, you fidgeting with the edges of your dress and watching him, he rocking back on his feet as if to gain the momentum to do something. 

Steve Rogers normally wasn’t fond of being called Stevie, it made him feel even smaller, younger, less like someone to take seriously. But he really liked it when you called him that, it felt more endearing that condescending...but then he’d probably let you call him anything if you always looked at him with that smile you got when he did something that made you bashful. With you he felt normal...like, like he was as good as any other man around. 

“I, uh, these are..are for you” His hands shook, which you’d gathered was actually incredibly normal for Steve due to his health, as he held the flowers out to you. It was honestly the most precious sight, it had your heart pounding in your chest to see this sweet guy, who’d dressed in what was obviously his Sunday best (no ill-fitting trousers on his short legs or too large shirt), with his hair carefully combed, and red on his cheeks and neck holding out a bunch of flowers as if he thought you might throw them in the dirt. 

“Thank you...” You looked down at your feet for a moment surprised by how bashful you felt before taking the flowers from his hands and inviting him inside while you put them in some water. You considered pressing one of the flowers sometime...a keepsake, a reminder of the man who brought you flowers with shaking hands and blue eyes that looked absolutely terrified that he’d mess this whole thing up.

You didn’t think that Steve Rogers could ever mess up with you. You’d known him around a week and you were already completely smitten with the boy to the point that you’d gotten in trouble while performing the other day for getting distracted when he wasn’t in the crowd. 

“Where, um, would you...like to go?”

“Where do you normally eat out?” You closed your door behind you, locking it and ignoring the prying eyes of Ms. Esther who was watching the two of you from a crack in her door. She honestly was a menace. You didn’t really mind where you went to eat with Steve, you just wanted to sit and talk to him. To learn more about the artist who drew you and the man who walked you home.

“This diner...it’s not...not much though” Your arm was wound through his as the two of you walked down through your apartment building. You quite liked that walking with Steve meant he didn’t tower over you like others might, it felt like you were on an even footing. Equals, perhaps that’s part of the reason you liked him so much, he always made you feel equal to him not less than. 

“I don’t mind, I just want to spend time with you...” You bit your lip to stifle a smile that threatened to overtake your face at the bright flush that reached the tips of Steve’s ears and the smile that took over his own. He was absolutely precious. 

“I, uh...” The walk to the diner really consisted of Steve struggling to get words out which frustrated him to no end, he just wanted to speak to you properly, and patiently trying to encourage him to come out of his shell. By the time the little diner came into view he was happily talking to you about his friend Bucky and his mother, and how frustrated he was with the fact he wasn’t allowed to join the war effort and help. You tried to remind him that it was only 1941 and the US had only just come into the war...he had plenty of time to figure out a way to help out. You could see it didn’t do much to ease the discontent he obviously felt about being treated as if he was useless. Part of you was happy he wasn’t accepted, that you could keep him around and keep him safe from a godawful war that you wished hadn’t even happened in the first place. 

Walking into the diner you realised why Steve must have liked it so much, apart from the apparent sentimental attachment. It was quiet, small, and while a little run down it had a friendly atmosphere that told you you’d be looked after as a person rather than a customer. It helped that a few of the waitresses said hello to Steve as you came in as if they’d known him his whole life, which in some cases might have actually been true.

Steve followed behind you as you found a booth, and slid into the smooth seats, he sat across from you, shrugging his coat off his shoulders. He looked incredibly nervous and there was little you thought to do to relax him, but take one of his cold shaking hands in your own with long painted nails and tell him how much you appreciated him. The nerves surely came from some deep seated self-consciousness about how women often saw him, you didn’t want him to be nervous, if anyone should be nervous it was probably you.

“Thank you.” His hand was starkly different from your own, pencil caught under his nails, cold, shaking hands, thin, long fingers that were very much the type you saw on pianists. You quite liked his hands, the way his fingers curled into your own almost on instinct.

“For what?”

“For being one of the few men i’ve met who hasn’t treated me like an object...like I don’t matter. You’re a good man, Steve and I hope you know that.” It wasn’t so much that men in general didn’t respect you, but rather the men you worked around, the men who knew about your job weren’t often the type of men who were there to admire your dancing...they were bad people and as much as you desperately wanted to work in a better club, you couldn’t. You needed this job and until something else cropped up you were stuck in that low rent club with the sleaziest men around. 

“I’m just...you shouldn’t be treated like that...at all, you shouldn’t have to thank me for that...”

“Stevie, just accept the compliment” He ducked his head at the way you giggled at his reluctance to just accept that he was a good man, a great man. He obviously didn’t take compliments very well.

“I, uh, I didn’t tell you, but you...you looked really beautiful tonight.” His hand squeezed your own for the first time, blue eyes shifting to look anywhere but at you, at the menu, at the waitress, at the counter tops. One day you hoped Steve would be full comfortable in the idea that you were interested in him, that he’d reach a point where he knew without a doubt that this wasn’t some cruel trick. That you with your painted nails, kitten heels, and provocative dancing was genuinely interested in him, utterly interested him. Because just because other girls had overlooked him, didn’t mean every girl would, you certainly didn’t.

“You don’t look too bad yourself” You liked the way he blushed, you wondered if that blush extended past his collar and down, you tried not to think about that while having dinner in a diner with him...it wasn’t exactly the most appropriate thing to think...nonetheless you enjoyed just how bashful Steve was. That the light scratch of your nails against his palm made him nervous, that his eyes followed the way you bit your lip sometimes. You liked that he could be 100% comfortable drawing you in little clothing, and yet he struggled to handle face to face interaction with you without blushing...you wondered if he ever had inappropriate thoughts about you or whether he was such a gentlemen that that sort of thing would never cross his mind.

“So, uh, what...what do you like to do when you’re not working?” An order was quickly given to your waitress, before the topic changed to you. You supposed that you and Steve never really had much time to talk, sure when he walked you home, but then he never asked questions, it was like he didn’t want to push you while you were tired. It was sweet in a way. 

“I, uh...books, the radio...walking in the park, mostly I love dancing, but that’s my job...” You weren’t actually sure what you enjoyed doing in your free time...you didn’t have a lot of free time and not many friends in the city...your family weren’t around either. It made you realise just how desperately lonely you were.

“Have you ever actually gone dancing? Like with a...a guy? Down at the dance halls?” 

“No, the men I run into don’t typically ask me to dance, Stevie...well, not in that way at least.” You could tell Steve caught your underlying meaning, if possible he went even redder in the face. 

“Sorry...”

“It’s fine, Steve, but if you’d like to take me dancing sometime I wouldn’t object...at all.” To either was what you refrained from saying, Steve was already sensitive and obviously inexperienced as it was, let alone if you started propositioning him in his local diner. 

“Maybe we could go next week? or...or this week?” He didn’t want to push his luck, Steve Rogers felt incredibly lucky to get one date with you, let alone another one...maybe you wouldn’t want to go dancing with him?

“I’d be happy to see you again this week, you don’t have to be so nervous...how about Friday? 6 O’clock? You can take me dancing and I’ll even let you step on my feet.” You would gladly get sore toes for a night of dancing with him, it was something so normal, so incredibly mundane and you rather liked the idea of it. 

“I’m almost certainly going to step on your feet.” Steve smiled at you with self-deprecating humour, his dancing wasn’t exactly great...sure Bucky had tried to teach him, but it was one thing trying to dance with Bucky in their apartment and another thing to dance with you in a busy dancing hall. 

“I’ll teach you and even if I can’t, i’d let you step on my feet any night.” 


	3. Chapter 3

The date continued in a better fashion then it had started, not that it had started terribly anyway but it was less nervous and less awkward. Steve had seemingly relaxed around you a little more once he knew you were interested in seeing him again and not just going to drop him. How he thought you’d never want to see him again you didn’t know. After all you’d been happy to see him all week and have him walk you home from the club, happy to have him draw you, happy, happy, happy. But then you supposed Steve probably didn’t get any real dates and those he did have probably had a long history of not turning into a second or a third or a forth. It made you wonder how horrible school must have been for Steve...but then perhaps that was where Bucky came into the scene, to make sure Steve didn’t get too roughed up and that people left him alone or as alone as one could get in school. 

You didn’t like the thought that Steve had ever been roughed up, but you knew from the man himself that he was about as fighty and confrontational as a Chihuahua and most definitely had gone home with at least a few bruises before. You knew that he often got into fights with men twice his size. You were oddly proud of him for that; proud that he stood up for what he believed in even when the odds weren’t in his favour. 

You soon found yourselves walking arm in arm together again, Steve walking you home. Brooklyn always looked so nice at night even though it could also be eerie at times. It was even nicer when you got to walk with someone like Steve. It was adorable the way he kept glancing at you, the way you knew he’d try to walk in step with you if you didn’t slow down, the way his free hand would reach up and rub at the back of his neck or run through his hair. 

This time when you and Steve got to your door was different than the last few times. Last time and usually you’d let him walk you to the front door of your apartment building, stopping on the steps and carefully saying goodnight (You never were sure whether a kiss would be too far as much as you’d like to). But this time was different, this time you didn’t want him to just leave at the end of the night. You wanted to keep talking to him.

“Do you...would you like to come up? I have some coffee or tea?” You wanted to talk to him for longer, ask him about his mother and his art and this burning desire he seemed to have to join the war effort. Part of you could understand him, that burning need to do something, to prove something, to fight against injustice...and part of you worried. Worried that this slight man with a list of a million ailments that looked like he could be blown over by the wind might actually get to fight...and might not come back from that either. 

“Uh...” For a moment you thought he might say no, there was the hesitancy to do so like he thought it was a test, there weren’t any tests you could probably put him through that he wouldn’t pass though...he always seemed to know what to do, “Sure” You led him up through the building, waved hello to Ms. Esther who’d once again started to spy on you as you walked past (she really was a nosy woman). Your door had this terrible habit of sticking with the lock sometimes and it was probably rather ungraceful of you to bang on it until it unlocked, but you did so anyway letting Steve into your home.

It wasn’t much as has been said before, but it was home and it looked a thousand times better with him standing inside it. Steve just seemed to light up the place or maybe he just made you happy and that’s how you perceived him. 

“You can make yourself at home, tea or coffee?” You gestured to the settee he was hovering by, it wasn’t exactly wrong for a young man to be in a young woman’s home, but there were a lot of connotations around it and Steve as inexperienced as he might be in some things wasn’t naive. But you just wanted to have coffee and talk. That sort of thing was a while off in your relationship. You were serious about Steve...you really liked him.

“Coffee, please” You set about making the cups, you learnt that Steve took his coffee straight black without any sugar and that he fidgeted a lot when he was sat in your home, you didn’t mind all that much. You could understand being nervous heck you were a little nervous yourself. You didn’t want to come across as being too forward...ignoring the fact he saw you dance regularly in less than the normal amount of clothing. You weren’t at work now, and he wasn’t an artist now, you were Steve and Y/N and you honestly wanted to pursue a relationship with him. 

The two of you sat there over coffee talking for what seemed like forever, at some point you got rid of your shoes and curled up across from him, cold coffee abandoned as you listened to him talk. How he felt about the war, how he felt about the club, anything and everything and while you didn’t do much talking yourself you weren’t especially bothered. You liked listening to him. Liked hearing how he felt and learning just how fast his heart beat and not just from his arrhythmia but from how strongly he felt about seemingly everything. How much he seemed to care. 

The later it got the more you realised Steve should really get home, not that you wanted him to and at times you worried that he wouldn’t get home safe. Steve wasn’t an intimidating person, he was small, and to most nasty people he was probably an easy target...you worried about him walking home alone as much as you worried about walking home alone. The only issue was that you couldn’t walk him home and you also couldn’t let him stay round your apartment because that just wasn’t allowed. And he certainly couldn’t stay on your Settee with his bad back and so forth...the settee would kill him alone it was so bad. 

So instead you washed up the mugs and walked him out of your apartment and back down to the front door, you didn’t bother to put your shoes back on, and instead padded down the hallway with him bare footed. 

“I...I had a really nice time tonight, Steve” You watched him from the top step, he’d stopped on the one below, looking up at you, jacket loosely hanging off his frame. 

“Me too, you’re...I really enjoy spending time with you..” He looked down at his feet for a second, before looking up at you underneath his eyelashes. There was always something positively endearing about the way Steve acted around you. Less nervous now, but always still bashful and so so incredibly innocent. The opposite of the men you usually danced for. 

“I’ll see you Friday, right? Or before? I’ll see you at the club, maybe?” You liked seeing him at the club, he made your evenings more enjoyable, made you feel like your dancing was truly appreciated. You enjoyed having him around, enjoyed having him walk you home and show you sketches. Enjoyed tapping your painted nails across his arm as you walked down the street. 

“I’m always at the club...” 

“Not always.”

“When you’re there I am” It was an oddly confident statement, no stammering, no stuttering, the only signs of Steve’s usual embarrassment or nervousness was the red of his cheeks. 

You both watched the other for a few moments, eyes flitting over each other’s face and you made a choice. Not a hard one nor a large one. But you made a choice nonetheless. You took a few steps forward, reaching the edge of the step you were on, hands reaching down to cup Steve’s jaw and you leant down and pressed a kiss to his cheek. It was smooth and soft and very very warm and while kiss itself might not have seemed like much it was a lot for the two of you. The first time you’d ever tried to kiss him in anyway. And by God did the bright red flush of his neck, face, and ears make it even more enjoyable. 

“I’ll see you later, Stevie...have a goodnight..” You walked backwards, arms wrapped around your waist and teeth biting lightly into you lower lip, eyes sparkling as you watched him stand there in shock before you disappeared into your apartment building. 

Steve stood there for what felt like hours but was actually probably just a few minutes, staring at the spot you’d been in, mouth ajar and red in the face. His hand reached up to his cheek and his fingers came away stained the colour of your lipstick...and he found he didn’t mind having your lipstick stain his skin or standing outside like an idiot when it was because of you. 


	4. Chapter 4

You did in fact see Steve at the club, every night you were working in fact. He made a point to show up and watch, to draw you, to smile at you when you caught his eye and to walk you home at the end of the night. You didn’t like the side eyes he got from some of the guys, but there wasn’t much you could do about it. You couldn’t exactly tell them to back off, you weren’t in any more dominant position than Steve was and you’d probably get hurt yourself. You doubted they’d really go out of their way to do anything more than toss him dirty looks, however. But you still told him to be careful on your walks home and hoped that he would be. He told you not to worry of course, but you were pretty sure you’d always worry about Steven Rogers. 

There were a lot of things about him that made you worry; his innate ability to find and start a fight, his long list of illnesses that might very well kill him without anyone else’s intervention, your own attachment to Steve and want to see him safe. You were sure he probably drove his friend, Bucky, crazy with worry as much as he did you, except his friend, from what you’d heard, could always actually help Steve out in a fight and you couldn’t...at all...fighting certainly wasn’t something you were very well versed in nor probably very good at. 

But the last thing you’d expected on the day of your second date with Steve was to open your door to him holding his ribs looking like someone had used his face as a punching bag while clutching some now very broken flowers that were quickly abandoned on the floor. “Steve?!” You ushered him in and soon found out that he was struggling to walk on his own and had to help him to your settee. 

“What happened?” You made him lie down and quickly ran about grabbing a few towels, a basin of water, and what little first aid supplies you kept on you. Thank god you kept a first aid kit around. You placed everything on your coffee table and looked him over. 

His left eye was pretty much swollen shut, his jaw was covered in bruises and looked like he’d taken a few hits there, and you could tell he’d been hit in the torso as well if the way he struggled to move and the way he held his ribs had anything to say about his condition...he looked awful. You carefully pressed a hand to his jaw, moving his head to the side, and apologising when he winced and hissed through his teeth. 

“A...few of the guys from the club...they were saying things about you...I...just...” it was obvious that talking hurt, and everything about this whole situation upset you. The two of you were supposed to go dancing, you were supposed to teach him a few steps...you weren’t supposed to be knelt on the ground in your best dress, looking over the man you cared about who looked like someone had really taken offence to his face. 

“You started a fight for me didn’t you?” He nodded obviously not wanting to work his hurt jaw over again. You were partially angry, partially flattered, and partially sad. While you thought it was absolutely stupid for him to get in a fight over you when it was simply over nasty words (which were said all the time in your line of work) it was also incredibly endearing that he was so willing to even when he probably knew his odds at getting out unscathed were pretty much 0. If he’d thought about his odds at all that is. But it was horrific to see him hurt in this way as well.

You dipped a wash cloth into the basin of water and rung it out before carefully pressing it to the side of his face and working on wiping away some of the blood that had collected there. His jaw was obviously not broken but bruised to high hell, his eye probably would be swollen for the next week, and he had a few gashes across his face that said he’d been punched by someone wearing rings...a lot of rings. Probably on purpose too. It wasn’t fair to punch someone while you wore rings. “You shouldn’t have, Steve, I’d rather have nasty things said about me and you be okay than the other way around...” You pulled some plasters out and worked on covering the little cuts he had on his face that were still bleeding. His skin was an awful mottled yellow and purple and he winced at even the slightest touch.

“I wanted to...you don’t deserve to be talked about like that...”

“I know, Stevie...but it’s honestly not worth getting into a fight over..I’d rather not find you like this or worse...what if you’d gotten killed, huh?” You didn’t really want to think about it but it was always a possibility. Steve was slight, he was suffering from a million different ailments and someone wailing on him and not stopping could seriously kill him, heck it could kill stronger guys. The last thing you wanted was a world without Steve Rogers you knew that much in the few weeks you’d know him...you didn’t want him to keep putting himself in situations that could get him killed especially not for you. You could handle the comments, the looks, you’d been handling them for most of your 20s.

He didn’t answer you only looked up guilty, he didn’t really think it through. He knew you were right, heck, even Bucky had told him he was tempting fate a lot of the time, but he was just...he didn’t think. He was angry and he wanted to defend you so he didn’t stop to think how it would be for you if he’d gotten killed or ended up in hospital or something like that...he promised himself that he’d make an effort not to start fights he couldn’t handle. Sure he’d probably still get in some, but he’d do his best to pick one’s that wouldn’t end with him on a hospital bed. For you. He’d try and keep out of ‘em for you. 

You ignored his protests and his awkward fumbling as you unbuttoned his shirt and lifted the undershirt he had on underneath up. Modesty was irrelevant when he’d obviously hurt his ribs. You sucked in a breath between your teeth and the sight, he was covered in dark bruises. He looked so bloody fragile and while that was to be expected after he practically collapsed on your settee you did hate it. You were careful to place your hands by his ribs and press as gently as possible. “I don’t think your ribs are broken...just very, very bruised. You’re lucky.” You wiped away any blood from any little cuts that were dotted around and left his ribs as they were...there wasn’t really much you could do for them, he’d just have to deal with the consequences of getting into this fight...on the night of your date as well.

You quickly set about cleaning up everything you’d collected, once pristine appearance now frazzled and Steve practically cursed himself for being an idiot. “I’m sorry.” You stopped washing your hands at the sink, not turning to look at him...just stopping. “I’m sorry that I ruined our date and I’m sorry I got into a fight...and that I made you look after me...I’m sorry...I really like you and I just...it didn’t seem right and you know that I...”

“That you go with your heart? That you can be unbelievable reckless? Yes, Steve, I know that..and I’m not mad not really...I’m just worried and I worry enough for you as it is without you proving that I need to...” You turned to look at him, he was standing now, one hand clutching at his ribs again and the other leaning against the back of your settee. 

You rushed forward and reached for his arm, “You need to sit down and rest...” He was wheezing, the effort of standing with poorly ribs was really too much for him after he practically crawled back to your house on his own. Which was actually a miracle in itself and then he somehow got up all the stairs...you’d give him points for determination at least...but ultimately he was as stubborn as a mule. 

“But we’re supposed to go dancing...” 

“Not tonight, Steve, I promise we will, okay? Next week, we’ll go...but you need to rest and I can’t get you home so you’re taking my bed.” You helped him stand up straighter and started to walk in the direction of your bedroom, it was slow going and while he wasn’t resisting you, he couldn’t exactly walk fast at the moment. 

“I couldn’t!”

“Steve. Not only are you hurt, but your back really doesn’t need to be on my terrible settee, please...just take the bed...” 

“Fine...but only because I know you’d kill me if I didn't...” You chuckled at the man and helped him sit on your bed, Ms. Ester would have a absolute fit that you kept a man in your bed but she could bugger off. Steve was far too hurt to try and make his way home and he needed to rest. She could take her old world values and stick them where the sun doesn’t shine. 

“I would or I could easily wrestle you onto the bed, sweetie.” You decided not to tease him anymore and leave him to rest. “Rest. I’ll see you in the morning, alright?” You grabbed spare pillows and a blanket from your wardrobe and left him alone. 

Part of you felt ridiculous having dressed up to the extent that you had only for you date to be essentially cancelled, but you knew that had you gone out dancing Steve would have been more than complimentary and you would have felt more than amazing dressed to the nines like you were. You were just a little disappointed that the night had just gone a little wrong. Well...a lot wrong...especially on Steve’s end. 

You hoped he’d still be safe to come to the club, the last thing you needed was him being threatened if he came to watch you dance. But you had a feeling that most of the regulars were used to Steve by now and whoever had taken to fighting him probably wouldn’t start anything unless Steve did. The guys at your club were rough, but they weren’t that rough that they’d purposely pick a fight with a guy who obviously wasn’t going to win. You’d keep an eye out nonetheless and you were sure the other girls would to, they all thought he was awfully sweet as well. Although their interests didn’t lie in the same place as yours. 

You struggled to fall asleep that night and it wasn’t so much the bad sofa as much as it was that you were worrying about Steve in the other room.


	5. Chapter 5

You woke in the morning with the most awful crick in your back that didn’t seem to leave even as you twisted and turned in place in an attempt to get rid of it, it was the sort of crick that told you had Steve slept on that sofa he probably wouldn’t have been able to walk in the morning and that you needed to perhaps save up some money to invest in a new one if that was possible. It was absolutely terrible.

You woke before Steve, not that you were surprised what with the beating he took last night. The memory of his mottled bruises and the way he struggled to walk hurt, it hurt to see him looking like that and all because of a mixture of you and his own reckless nature that you found both endearing and irritating. In the best sort of way of course. 

You worked on brewing some coffee, still in yesterday’s dress but not really caring, you didn’t have anywhere to be and you just wanted to make sure that Steve was okay when he woke up. You made some food, it wasn’t anything fancy, just some toasted bread and what little jam you could get a hold of without going bankrupt. You wished your job payed better, but the club owner was honestly the worst when it came to paying you a decent amount and not scrimping. He was sleazy, he was cheap, and he never respected any of the girls...but what could you do? None of the other clubs wanted to take you on at the moment and dancing was something you enjoyed...you weren’t sure what you’d do if you didn’t dance, work in a factory? Work in a run down shop? 

You took a mug of coffee with you as you walked into your bedroom, bare feet padding against the ground. Steve was sleeping still, awkwardly holding his body as if no sleeping position would make him feel better or relieve the ache in his body. You couldn’t imagine the pain his body was in from the beating he took, and you knew he’d heal slower than most people with all his problems. It worried you and you wondered if he needed to go to an actual doctor not that either of you could afford that, heck three quarters of the people in New York couldn’t afford that. 

You placed the mug on the bedside table, carefully and gently sitting down on the edge of the bed next to Steve, a hand of perfectly painted nails reaching out to brush the hair from his face. “Steve...” You waited, he didn’t even move and it worried you that he seemingly had no reaction. “Steve.” You tried hard, fear urging you to be a bit more forceful in your wake up call and sighing deep in relief when his eyelids fluttered and he groaned and huffed, the starting of wakefulness hitting him. 

You helped him sit up in your bed, which you were sure was going to smell like his aftershave for the next day (not that you were complaining about that), he let out the saddest little pained noises at the way his ribs moved and the muscles irritated bruises. Handing him the mug you thought he looked paler than normal, sicker...the thought that you were becoming his mother crossed your mind, but he did need caring for and you didn’t much care. 

“How are you feeling, Stevie?” The bruises on his face had swelled over night, he was slowly becoming less recognisable and looking a little more gruesome. You would be happy to see him back to his old self; safe, happy, wily, and about as healthy as Steve Rogers got. 

“Like I went 5 rounds with a truck...” 

“Well, that’s sort of what happened really...any man twice your size is practically a truck...” Let alone more than one man, all wailing on you like some sort of punching bag you didn’t say that however in favour of not starting another fight over it. 

“I’m sorry...that I got in a fight...that I worried you...” 

“It’s okay, i’m not angry...I just...I care about you. I hope you know that.” He smiled lightly at you, before wincing at the way his jaw moved and jumped. The whole thing was ridiculous and arguably scandalous. A young man in your bed after fighting a bunch of men...It was a good thing you didn’t have any family around to feel scandalised. 

The two of you sat there for a while longer, Steve drinking coffee from his mug and you simply watching him and waiting for something to happen. For him to cry out in pain or something equally as bad to happen. You were scared that he might be more hurt than he seemed and that there wouldn’t be anything you could do about it. Nonetheless you left to change into something new, making yourself presentable for the day before helping Steve out of the bed. He could walk a little better today. 

There wasn’t much that could be done about making him presentable, but you gave him some food and straightened out his shirt and tie to the best of your ability considering he slept in them. 

“Let me walk you home? You need the help.” You closed your door behind you, rolling your eyes at Ms. Ester as you helped Steve to lean on you. 

“Alright...” He didn’t argue, he knew you’d only get angry at him and you were right he wasn’t the best at the moment and he couldn’t really walk all that distance alone nor did he really want to. Bucky was probably going to visit soon and he’d probably get an earful about getting in a fight again. 

The walk to Steve’s apartment took perhaps twice the time it usually would have, a slow pace where the two of you had to stop every now and then for him to catch his breath and rest his ribs. But you didn’t mind, it gave the two of you time to talk, arrange to go dancing again without him getting into a fight, and get a little time together that you would have had last night had the turn of events not happened. 

You helped walk him right to his door. “Look after yourself, don’t push it...i’ll see you next week for our date...just don’t get into any more fights in the mean time.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek, the one that didn’t look fifty shades of purple and turned on your heels with a smile and a wave. That man was going to be the death of you you could already tell. 


	6. Chapter 6

You visited Steve the first few days after the incident, he wouldn’t turn up at the club probably because he couldn’t walk very well and his friend, Bucky, had probably told him not to. So instead you went to him, you brought him leftovers and watched as his bruises slowly started to dim in colour but never leave, as the swelling of his face slowly went down and he became a little more recognisable and a little less beat up. He told you you didn’t need to baby him, but you weren’t not really, you just wanted to help. You took the time to sew up some of his trousers that were too long, fix the holes in some of his shirts, but most of all you took the time to talk to him and reassure yourself that he was okay and that he hadn’t gotten killed because of you. That he was there. Because when he’d collapsed through your door he’d looked like death...

After he was in better shape you stopped visiting him, mostly because you were getting looks from his more elderly neighbours and you could not use the excuse of making sure he was okay anymore. But he started visiting you at the club again, it’s how you knew he’d be okay for your dancing date. If he could walk to the club, and sit there comfortably drawing, and if he could walk you home and walk back too then he was doing a lot better. He hadn’t picked any fights, and it didn’t seem like anyone in the club was really interested in beating on him again which made you feel a lot better about everything. At least he hadn’t made an enemy who would keep coming back, just another thug who hit once and left it at that. 

You were slowly becoming more and more disenchanted with your job. The fact was that in the years you’d been working there you’d never met a man who’d actually shown you that life could be different and now you had all those daydreams seemed a little more concrete. You could get a job in a nicer club or save up some money and go back to school, go to university. You could do so many things and Steve made you see that. Made you see that you could dance somewhere nicer, heck you could dance on one of those US Military tours if you really wanted to...and you did want to get away from the grimy club you worked in, but you were also scared of the uncertainty that brought. The fear of whether you’d actually be able to get a new job, another pay check, a better working place. The world was tough and you didn’t want it to keep beating you down every time you tried to get up. But Steve made you think of the possibilities, made you feel a strength to change your life because if he could get back up after a fight then maybe you could get a new job and keep on swinging in the end. But it was currently only dreams. Dreams of moving somewhere better. Brighter. Safer. 

You never told Steve about it, you knew he’d be the first person to find you a new job and push you forward...but you figured maybe he’d try too fast. You wanted to figure this all out in your head first. Besides he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon even if he kept trying to enlist...at the risk of being caught lying mind you. You’d been tempted to slap him upside the head on multiple occasions now. His desire to do his bit was admirable, but there was also stupidity and recklessness there which frustrated you. But you supported him nonetheless, and comforted him when he failed to get in. Nothing was going to change his mind, so you might as well support him while you can and provide him with comfort than constantly berate him over something that wasn’t going to simply change overnight. This was Steve Rogers and once he set his mind to something nothing was going to change it. 

Your dancing date drew ever closer and you found yourself nervous, so very nervous and you couldn’t even explain it. You could dance, but you’d never been taken dancing to any of the local halls. You were going to be teaching Steve to not step on your toes which really wasn’t such a big deal because even if he was a terrible dancer you wouldn’t give a damn. So why were you so nervous? Was this what it felt like to want to impress someone? Because it made no sense when you danced in front of him every day....but then that was work and this was...this was pleasure and he was Steve and it was just different. Maybe that’s all it was. It was different and different made you nervous. Steven Grant Rogers made you nervous.

You had even saved up a little bit of money to get a new dress, it wasn’t the best dress certainly, but it was new and it made you feel pretty and it felt right to buy something new again, something for a purpose rather than fixing the old ones you wore and hand making ones from old scraps of fabric you had. The day of the date had you buzzing with energy, butterflies in your stomach and nervousness making you a little scatter-brained. It was hard to perfectly draw on lipstick when your hands were shaking and hard to put pins in hair as well. But somehow you managed, sure perseverance probably. 

Like every time Steve had showed up for a date he brought flowers. They were never the most beautiful, nor the most expensive, but that didn’t matter because they were beautiful because he bought them and he gave them to you. He was always so eager to please, the extra effort in the shine of his shoes, and his best fitting trousers. Steve had an ability to show just how much he cared, his heart on his sleeve and he faced each day without a fear of that heart getting hurt.

“You know I still can’t dance...” You looked over at him, arm tightening its hold on his as the two of you neared the dancing hall, music could be heard halfway down the street bright, happy tunes that made you want to move to the beat. 

“It’s okay, i’ll teach you...and I still don’t mind if you step on my toes.” You pulled him to a stop outside the hall, he looked scared. You supposed he’d been here before with his friend and perhaps a date who left him halfway through. But that wasn’t happening, not tonight, not with you.

You leaned up a pressed a quick peck to his cheek, an attempt to reassure him before taking his hand and pulling him through the doors. The hall itself was brightly lit, loud music from the band playing and a dance floor packed with couples, others sat around the edges with drinks sipping and talking. It was a busy place and part of you wondered if the two of you couldn’t simply dance outside together in the quiet where you could focus on him and he could focus on you. But that wasn’t the point of being here, it was to be a normal couple going for a dance together. It was to give Steve and yourself an experience you’d both been denied for different reasons. 

“Come on” You started pulling him towards the space of the dance floor, you wanted to dance with him ever so badly and it seemed so odd to dance with someone rather than for someone, but you’d happily dance for him as well...he was a great man, a nice man. You were starting to fall a little too far for him probably, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

“You don’t want a drink first?” You could hear the shake in his voice, feel it in the clamminess of his hand, but you needed to push him to do this and that was so strange. Strange that Steve Rogers was never scared of fighting bullies, but scared of dancing with a girl...

“Steve, I know it’s scary...but I really want to dance with you...so no, I don’t want a drink first.” You tried again, gently coaxing him towards the floor and feeling relieved when he followed. Nervous but willing. 

You knew people were staring at you, Steve was small, slight, and frail and most would question why you were dancing with him. But you liked that he was small and slight, you liked that he was this big man in personality and not in body, that he fought so hard and never let it stop him from trying. You were devastatingly attracted to him and if others couldn’t see or understand that then that was their problem and not either of yours. 

“I really don’t...” You interrupted him by taking his hand and placing it on your waist, enjoying the red blush that filled his cheeks and trailed down his neck, before taking his other hand in yours. “Just follow my steps, nothing too hard I promise.” You weren’t going to be swinging anytime soon, but a simple couple of steps, back and forth dance wasn’t too hard and you didn’t really care for extravagant dances anyway...they only served to exhaust you. 

He kept looking at his feet you noticed, and every time he looked down at them he’d end up missing a step, “Hey, look at me...don’t worry about your feet.” And he did and he followed surprisingly well when he wasn’t so horrifically focused on where he was placing his feet. In fact despite his constant mutterings that he wasn’t very good at dancing he was actually very good for a first time dancer. He simply needed to believe that he was. 

You barely noticed the other people around you, there was just something simply captivating about dancing with Steve, watching him relax more and more until he was smiling and enjoying himself rather than focusing on whether he’d make a fool of himself. 

“Mind if I cut in?” You looked to the side at the voice that spoke. A tall man in uniform with a smirk that said he thought he was god’s gift to women. But despite your negative attitude towards him you could already feel Steve deflate underneath your hands...because this was the type of man that always got the girl, the man that was opposite to Steve. Completely and utterly...and perhaps that’s what turned you off. He wasn’t Steve. He wasn’t even slightly like Steve. 

“Uh, su-” You cut Steve off, noting that the man had only talked to him and not asked if you were actually okay with swapping partners. And you certainly weren’t.

“Actually yes, I’m only dancing with my date tonight.” You waited for him to do something, but he seemed to simply give you a nasty look before trailing off to ask for another girl to dance with him. He didn’t care about you, of course he didn’t, he just wanted to find a girl to take home at the end of the night or to take round the back of the club. 

You turned back to Steve who was staring. The more his eyes flitted across your face the more it became apparent he was trying to figure out why you’d say no. Why you’d want to keep dancing with him instead...what made you different from the girls he’d gone on double dates with before? The answer? You liked Steve and you really really liked him. You weren’t in the habit of running off with other men when you had one who’d caught your interest.

“You’re the only man I want to dance with Steve...i’m not letting some random man twirl me around when i’m here with you.” You reassured him, hands moving around his neck to pull him back into a dance.


	7. Chapter 7

Steve’s arms settled back around your waist as you swayed with him. The steps rhythmic as you moved across the dance floor, the relaxation of his shoulders, the light wheezing of his breath that told you he wasn’t doing too bad at the moment, the curling fingers at your waist. And once more you were captivated by Steve, by his eyes, by the strands of blonder hair that fell into his eyes, and the almost permanent flush to his skin. Steve was captivating to watch, to dance with, to get lost with. You were rather sad that the two of you had never really ventured to try this before, to dance not even in private. 

“Why haven’t we done this before?” 

“...I got beaten up?” You roll your eyes at the grin and the smart ass comment you receive, but you weren’t actually irritated by it, rather it was actually somewhat endearing. Steve was small and slight and bold and cheeky, a man of contradictions and you absolutely loved it. Loved everything about him...and that feeling in your chest, that growing affection only seemed to get larger and harder to control. 

“You did, but I meant before that...we’ve known each other weeks and we’re only now deciding to go dancing...” There were so many occasions you could have danced previous to this, so many times the two of you could have gone down to this very dance hall and stepped around each other all night in rhythmic movements. You could have been utterly captivated time and time again, but instead you hadn’t gone dancing. 

“It’s kind of intimidating to ask a professional dancer to go dancing with you, y’know?” You suppose he was right, but you weren’t a swing dancer or ballroom dancer, you were a burlesque dancer. Your sort of dancing wasn’t exactly dance hall material, it was for dark clubs with velveteen curtains, it was for private rooms and a man leering from the dark. It wasn’t slow, gentle, and innocently sweet, it was an altogether different art form. It was dark, it was vice, it was the beauty of sensuality rather than the beauty of purity and innocence. It was a show rather than a dance, it was a spectacle.

“I intimidate you?” You had never thought you were especially intimidating but then perhaps compared to most women you were. You had a job in which every day you owned your feminine sexuality, you owned your body, you controlled your body. You regularly stood in front of strangers and braved judgement...or perhaps simply women intimidated Steve which wouldn’t have been much a surprise. He had never had the most positive of experiences with women in a romantic setting.

“Sometimes, in a good way...I just...I want to impress you.” 

“You always impress me, Stevie.” You moved closer to him as the two of you danced. He did always impress you. Everything about him impressed you; his determination, his strength, his heart, his belief in people, in good. He was an impressive man, in a body that he didn’t think was impressive, that the world didn’t think was impressive. But you did. Because it was impressive that he didn’t let the frailty of his body, the illnesses that struck him stop him. He didn’t let it stop him from living his life like any other person even with the awareness that the next fever that hit him could kill him. There was something admirable about that. 

You watched him look down and then look up at you through his lashes, a little smile pulling at the corner of his lips, the type of smile that was bashful, that said he wasn’t sure how to take the compliment because it wasn’t often people said they were impressed by him. The type of smile that was beautiful in its own way but also rather sad because he didn’t know just how great he was.

The two of you fell silent, continuing to dance around each other, getting closer the more you danced. You couldn’t really be asked to care about appropriate distance, and you ignored the people who stared at the two of you, at what they saw as an odd pair because it wasn’t about them. This was about you and it was about Steve and it was about the two of you together. 

You danced for a long time, longer than most couples who made their way off the floor and eventually made their way out of the dance hall as the night time continued to descend. Rather, you danced with Steve until the staff asked you to leave so they could lock up and clean before going home themselves. The two of you walking out of the hall hand in hand for the first time rather than simply arm in arm. There was something more intimate about holding hands, your fingers curling between the spaces of the other’s own, palm against palm, and shoulders brushing as you walked. So much more intimate than the most common occurrence of an arm through another’s.

As he did every time he took you out or met you away from your home Steve walked you home. Your hands clasped together as you walked down darkened streets and under street lamps, as you talked idly about little inconsequential things to fill the space that silence wrought. It was amazing how easily you fell into a routine with Steve. Always expecting him at the club, always walking home with him and seeing him off at your door. It was the type of routine that you enjoyed, the regular contact, visits, and walks, the ability to see Steve and get to know him bit by bit. To keep an eye on him, which you sure would grow even more important once his friend, Bucky, left for the war. Without Bucky, Steve, would have even less people looking out for him, making sure he was okay...you also knew he’d grow more and more frustrated with his inability to sign up for the war effort. 

The two of you reached your doorstep, and like many of the times before you found yourself toeing the stone step while Steve stood in front of you wondering how he should say goodbye and wondering if you could get away with inviting him up, but knowing that you couldn’t, not really. 

“I...uh...” You waited for him to figure out how to say what he wanted to say. Steve struggled sometimes, when it came to things and you and words and waiting and being patient was something you’d learnt to do early on, but also that you found to be rewarding. He always had something important to say. “This might be...a, uh, bit early and I know that we’ve not really had many dates...and I...you don’t have to say yes, but I wanted to ask if...if you’d be my best girl?” 

“Oh” It was a surprise, it was certainly a surprise, you’d never really thought about the prospect of officially defining your relationship, perhaps because you didn’t need to because you knew that you were interested in Steve...but the sound of being his best girl...it was incredibly tempting, and it was something that sounded amazing. It had your mind going over all the prospects that that would bring. You could say you had a boyfriend. You could be flaunted on his arm. You could be exclusive and together and Ms. Esther couldn’t say a damn thing about it. 

“I...I would really like that, Steve.” And you did, you wanted to be his girl as much as you wanted him to be your boy. There was the feeling of mutual possession, you are mine and I am yours and we can be and do things together and be rather loud about it rather than simply following the rules of two people who aren’t even in a relationship. 

“Great...that’s...that’s great, I-” You cut him off, the urge to kiss him having tripled in the time he stood there, nervous and shaking, so eager to hear your answer but so scared to. So you kissed him; his lips were dry and cracked but they pressed almost lovingly against your own, his jaw was soft in your hands, the skin clear of any facial hair, and everything about it was just so very you and very Steve. Even down to the way Steve had to pull away and the wheezing from his chest. 

“Goodnight...” You felt warm under his stare, warm all over as you entered the building and left him stunned on the doorstep. Stunned and happy, but stunned nonetheless. He’d never expected you to kiss him...and he couldn’t even bring himself to give a damn about the lipstick marks across his lips. 


	8. Chapter 8

Being official with Steve wasn’t that much different from casually dating him, but it was different enough that you noticed little differences in the way the two of you acted or the way Steve did things. Like the slowly growing confidence Steve had around you like the confirmation that you were together finally struck him and that he finally believed you liked him for him and that you weren’t just humouring him or saying yes out of pity or a joke. Like the even more regular visits, and walks at all times of day and night. The slowly growing amount of stuff at your apartment that belonged to him, a few jackets, even some of his medication which was pricey enough to be a crime and had you silently shaking your fist at the price of health care. Like the way you thought about him at the oddest of moments or the contentedness you felt at night knowing that he was your guy and not any other woman in Brooklyn or America’s.

A few weeks went by, seeing him every shift at the club, walking home with him and inviting him inside for a drink and a chat where you’d rest your feet in his lap and he’d talk about whatever piece of art he’d been asked to do for work that day. It all became rather domestic and you loved it, loved that both of you were becoming increasingly comfortable around each other like you’d known each other longer than you had. It was something that made your heart pound in your chest because there was something utterly thrilling about being like that with Steve, about being domestic and comfortable and safe. You trusted him implicitly and the only thing that he ever did to upset you was his continual struggle to enlist for the war.

The thought of him leaving you, of going away, of getting wounded or going missing or god forbid dying was something that circled your mind day in day out and that hurt and terrified you. But at the same time you couldn’t fault Steve for wanting to enlist, for wanting to do his part, for wanting feel useful. You understood that feeling, sometimes you wondered if you shouldn’t work in a factory or join the nursing corps or do something, anything to help the war effort instead you were dancing for guys who didn’t even appreciate you, let alone respect you. It was a dilemma you’d started to talk with Steve about, the want to at least get away from that club or even to go back to school learn to do something more. Part of you wanted Steve to be the one guy you’d danced with and for, to break away from people who didn’t respect your dancing but rather used it so they could jerk off to it later. You loved dancing, but you hated dancing for people who didn’t care about you or respect your dancing. You hated dancing for men who used you for their own dirty little sins. You didn’t want to be a part of it anymore. 

Steve had been eager to see you get away from the club, said he knew it made you unhappy, that he wanted you to be happy in whatever job you decided to do whether that was dancing at a different club or a new vocation entirely. You started to save up little bits of money from your pay check figuring maybe school was something you could go back to, and started looking for a different and better club to work at. You didn’t talk about this at work, you didn’t need to get fired until you had a proper job secured somewhere else. You still needed to pay your rent, buy your food, and live day to day and as crappy as your current job was it was a job and it paid the bills. 

“Are you sure he’ll like me? What if he hates me, Stevie!?” You were pulling on the ends of your skirt as the two of you walked down the pavement towards his friend, Bucky’s, apartment. You were more than a little worried about finally meeting the man, after all he was practically Steve’s brother in all ways but blood...and the last thing you wanted was for him to disliked you, even more so because most men frowned upon your job unless you were serving their own purposes. 

“He already likes you...I told him how you looked after me, y’know? He likes that he’s not the only one doing it especially since he’s probably..probably getting his orders soon.” You could hear the disappointment in his voice again, that he wasn’t going to go with his friend, that he was going to be stuck here. It wasn’t anything against you, you knew he’d miss you if he did leave, but his conscience couldn’t handle the guilt of standing by and not risking his life like every other man of age was doing. 

You gently grabbed his arm pulling the two of you to a stop on the pavement, before brushing his fringe from his face, “Hey...I know you want to go with him...just give it time, if it’s supposed to happen it’ll happen, darling.” Even if you didn’t want him to go...you had to come to terms with the idea that it might very well happen and that if it was going to happen it would. The advice was as much for him as it was for you. 

The two of you walked on, you internally still panicking about how Bucky would react to you, were you allowed to call him Bucky? Or should you call him James? Or Mr. Barnes? Or Sergeant Barnes? It was like meeting someone’s parents...except, perhaps worse because there was no way that Bucky Barnes would let you get away with anything, he cared about Steve too much. Not that you were trying to get away with anything...you just wanted him to like you. Was that too much to ask?

“Are you okay?” You stood in front of the door, eyes drifting to Steve and then back to the door again. You weren’t okay, but if you said that out loud you wouldn’t be able to do this, so instead you nodded and swallowed the fear that rose up in your throat. 

The door opened to a man you’d only see briefly before the first time he’d taken Steve to the club, blue eyes, brown hair, a smirk that probably got more than a little attention and a friendly demeanour that made you feel slightly more comfortable as he pulled Steve into a hug and called him a punk.

“You must be Steve’s girl.” A hand was put out towards you, “I’m James but you can call me Bucky” A wink was sent your way, not the type that was salacious or flirtatious but rather reassuring like he knew you were internally panicking about this whole meeting. You clasped his hand in yours and gave it a shake, a change from the usual greeting men gave you. It made you feel equal, on par rather than lesser. 

“Y/N.” The panic started to ebb away as you were ushered inside the small apartment, that was not that different from your own one. Part of you wondered if Steve had warned Bucky that you’d be nervous or if Bucky was just so used to people being like that that he picked up on it immediately and knew how to put it at ease. But either way it was working, you didn’t feel judged, felt like Bucky didn’t have a problem with you and felt...felt like you could do this. 

“So, how come you’re going out with this punk, huh? I mean he’s a pain in the ass!” It was said jovially, the type of comment that was teasing and had Steve rolling his eyes and pushing the larger man’s shoulder lightly. 

“He is isn’t he? But he’s kind of cute too.” You felt yourself relax more and more into the conversation, enjoying the way Bucky laughed and Steve smiled like he knew the two of you would get along without even a shadow of a doubt. The three of you talked for a while before Steve wandered off to the bathroom.

“You’re good for him...” You looked up from your skirt, the man across from you had turned serious. In the few hours you’d spent with him you’d learnt that Bucky Barnes was not a serious guy, he was silly and jovial and like a little boy in a sweet shop. 

“Does that mean you approve?” 

“Yeah, I do. If you ever need anything i’ve got your back, you make him happy and he deserves that. You see him for him and not his size.” You supposed Bucky had seen girls turn Steve down, walk away from him and ignore him time and time again, probably heard Steve say more than a few insecure things. He’d seen Steve from childhood to adulthood, and you could imagine that he knew the man better than he knew himself. 

“I kind of love him. Don’t tell him that though...” You’d yet to tell Steve that, it seemed too quick and yet everything with Steve seemed quick but also right. Like the quickness was supposed to be there, that for the two of you it was perfectly natural. Either way you wanted to wait a little bit before you said those three words to him...wanted to be sure he wouldn’t run if you said them.

“Secret’s safe with me, doll.” It was strange to think that a few hours ago you’d been completely and utterly terrified of talking to this man, that you’d assumed he’d hate you, judge you, call you a million names and more...and really you should have known that any friend of Steve’s was going to be a decent guy who wanted you to like him as much as you wanted him to like you. It was mutually beneficial for you both to get along, but you didn’t think that why you got along. You quite liked Bucky, he was a nice guy. Brotherly almost, in a weird sort of way. 

“I miss anything?” Your eyes flickered over to Steve as he came back in and carefully slumped into the chair next to you, his back had been hurting more than normal that day. 

“Nah, nothing, punk.” Bucky winked at you and you grinned back, yeah you could get used to the two of them being around for a long while. Even more so when you thought about how long it had been since you’d had people who truly liked you, truly had your back, and wanted the best for you.


	9. Chapter 9

Weeks past, and you often found yourself out with Steve dancing or offering him dinner. You eventually talked to Steve more about how you felt in your job, the want to change and go and do something different, to get away from that very specific club and the men in it. He’d help you figure out things you’d be happy to do, places you’d be happy to work or the possibility of going back to school at some point in the future if you could save enough money. When Steve wasn’t around to walk you home from work you often found Bucky there instead, he often flirted with a few of the other girls before walking you home and telling you how Steve had done this, that or the other. He had become a good friend to you and you were sad to see him get ready to leave for a war he might not come back from. But you also respected his decision, the same way you’d have respected Steve’s had he been accepted at any point...you relieved he was still failing to enlist, although he was still running a large risk by lying on enlistment forms.

You never told the girls about your attempts to find another job, your eagerness to leave the club, you didn’t want the owner to hear, you didn’t want to be fired before you had some stability, some form of work lined up. So you weren’t sure how he found out, you really weren’t, but he had and you’d stood in front of him, staring ahead without really looking as you took what he dished out. The insults, the firing you received with immediate effect, and you strode out of that club knowing that you wouldn’t be able to afford rent without another job. 

Part of you was relieved, the fact you no longer had to go to that blasted place. But the rest of you was terrified, there was so much uncertainty, you weren’t sure if you’d get a job soon, if you’d be able to afford your apartment or buy food. Working at the club had been horrible but there was financial certainty and that made life a little easier and a little more relaxed. There was only one person really that you could talk to about it all and that Steve, as much as you wanted to sort this by yourself you knew you needed help and Steve was someone you didn’t mind getting help from.

So you found yourself knocking on his apartment door, a bag of your stuff from the club (costumes, make up, your last due pay check, and the like) slung over your shoulder, arms wrapping around your stomach as you waited for him to answer, feet tapping on the corridor floor. 

The door opened, and Steve stood there, his sleeves were rolled up, and graphite could be spotted on his fingers and hands, he’d been working on something obviously, “Y/N? What are you doing here? I thought you had work today?” 

“I...can I come inside, babe? I’ll tell you inside..” You knew Steve like everyone had nosy neighbours and the last thing you wanted was people to know the private details of your life. You doubted many of them would approve of your career and judgement from strangers was really the last thing you needed in that moment. 

Steve ushered you in and worked on making you a cup of something to drink. You placed your bag on the floor beside the sofa and took a seat. You weren’t scared to tell Steve, you knew that he wouldn’t be upset or disappointed, just that he’d want to help maybe a little too much. It was strange how much like home his apartment had become for you and you assumed vice versa. How the drawings over the desk in the corner were familiar and the smell of the flat, the atmosphere, everything about it had become so familiar. 

“Here,” You took the mug from him and tapped your painted nails against the ceramic as you started to really process what this meant for you. You were an unemployed woman in a world where you needed employment without a husband or else you’d starve...and sure maybe it wasn’t so bad right now, with the little savings you have aside and the pay check in your bag, but...one day it wouldn’t be so nice. 

“What happened?” 

“I...got fired. Apparently the boss found out that...that I was planning on leaving and he just...decided to speed up the process.” Or more like decided to punish you for wanting leave that place. He was practically telling you he didn’t mind if you rotted in a gutter. 

“Seriously? Asshole.” You almost smiled at the way he swore, Steve didn’t swear in front of you often, he said it wasn’t right to do that. But you knew that around others he swore like a sailor, he just liked to put on an appearance of being more well spoken then perhaps he was. You liked when he swore though, it made you feel like he felt comfortable enough to put down that wall. Whether he swore or not he was still Steve Rogers. 

“Language, Stevie.” The two of you fell into silence for a few moments, you taking a sip from your mug before placing it on the rickety coffee table he had. He should probably get a new one, but didn’t really have the money. 

“What happens if you can’t find a job soon?” 

“You know what happens, darling...I lose the apartment, I lose the ability to eat...and I end up very, very unhappy.” You watched him frown, the furrow in his brow becoming more and more prominent. He was thinking. Usually that spelled trouble, but you were curious. 

“Move in with me.” 

“Stev-” He cut you off and your mind was just completely buzzing. Move in with him? He couldn’t serious...

“Just let me explain what i’m thinking, okay?” You nod, it’s best to hear him out rather than just dismiss it altogether, “If you move in here, my job can pay for everything until you get a new one, and then you can share the rent, y’know? We can pretend to be engaged if that makes you more comfortable with the neighbours...I just...you can’t afford to live alone without a job.” He was right, the rent would eat up the money you had left, and without a job you’d be kicked out on the curb. His idea made total sense even if it went against most of what you’d been taught was acceptable. You and Steve weren’t married or even intending to marry...

“You’re right...Living with you is probably the best idea we have at the moment...but the moment I get a new job i’m paying towards the rent, okay?” You weren’t letting Steve pay your way forever. You had to get a job and you had to help out. You’d clean, you’d do chores whatever he needed in the meantime, but the moment you got another pay check you were going to help pay your way. 

“So does that mean you’ll move in with me?”

“Yeah...I will” You hadn’t expected much of a reaction, certainly not for him to stand up and grab you into a hug. Certainly not for him to cup your cheeks and drag you into a kiss. Even after dating for a few months he was still hesitant to initiate anything, this was uncommon to say the least, but not unwanted.

Your hands drifted around his shoulders as he kissed you, the hesitancy still there, but a subtle confidence coming through in the pressure he put upon your lips, and the hands that cupped your cheeks. Kissing Steve always made your heart race, you wondered if it would ever not. 

You pulled back, “You’re happy then, I guess?”

“Very happy.” 

It took a couple of days after that to get everything sorted. To cancel your lease, convince your landlord to give you back any rent that hadn’t been used for the month, to pack the few belongings you had up into some boxes and move them to Steve’s apartment. Bucky came and did the heavy lifting, the last thing either of you needed was Steve putting his already bad back out. You didn’t have too many things, so unpacking wasn’t really much of a problem. 

When Steve was working you kept quiet, made sure he ate, drank, looked after himself especially when he got too caught up in a big commission or art piece. You did most of the grocery shopping and helped clean the place especially with the way cleaning just made Steve ache all over. You made sure he remembered by his medication and you settled into a routine that was so oddly domestic you might as well have been married. He really wasn’t suited to living alone, but you supposed he was stubborn as all heck and had for years denied that he struggled, but it was obvious by the jobs you took over that he did struggle at times. 

You weren’t complaining, however, you enjoyed falling asleep with him and waking up with him, the innocence of it all. The fact he had no ulterior motives for letting you stay with him. You enjoyed dinners together and watching him draw, you even enjoyed him sitting with you and a paper and helping you find job ads...

You’d thus far been unsuccessful in finding a job, most didn’t give you an interview and those that did weren’t impressed with the work experience of a burlesque dancer. It was a work in progress, hard work, but you’d get there, or so you hoped. In the meantime life with Steve was actually pretty good, better than living alone in a shoddy apartment. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those who don’t want to/can’t read this chapter because of the smut nature of it you can skip over it. In essence it’s just a chapter where Steve draws the reader naked and then smut happens, nothing necessary is in it so don’t feel like you can’t read the next part after this without reading this one. It’s not a vital part! 
> 
> Also kids use protection, just because it’s not mentioned in this fic doesn’t mean it’s not important! Both to protect from pregnancy for couples who can get pregnant and protection from sexually transmitted diseases for all couples. Wrap it before you tap it, my friend.

It wasn’t unusual to walk into the living room and find Steve hunched over a sketchbook, how he managed it with his back you weren’t sure, but you always made him take a walk and stretch every so often so that he didn’t get stuck like that. It was actually pretty common and it was a sight that you’d gotten incredibly used to and looked at with fondness now that you lived with him. 

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders from behind, leaning over the back of the settee to do so, and pressing your cheek into his shoulder, peering over it at a blank page that he’d now turned to. “What are you working on?”

“At the moment? Nothing...I don’t have any inspiration at all.”

“Artist’s block?” You tutted with sympathy, you couldn’t imagine how frustrating it must have been to want to do something, draw something, get something down, but being unable simply because your brain decided today was not the day. 

“Something like that.” You stood, arms leaving his shoulders and walked around the other side of the settee to stand in front of him. You were still in your night clothes and a dressing gown. It would have been something your mother would have absolutely abhorred; you an unmarried woman living with an unmarried man, sleeping in the same bed, him seeing you in your nightwear. Oh she’d have had a complete fit and the idea made this whole thing infinitely better. 

“Draw me.” You weren’t sure if he’d go for it. You really weren’t, especially not when your idea of him drawing you was you lying across a piece of furniture with not an ounce of fabric on you...you couldn’t deny the appeal of being drawn naked. Especially if it was Steve doing the drawing...it was almost ridiculous how much you wanted the boy, but also how much you were holding back. It was one thing to date him, but you weren’t sure if he’d be okay with any attempts to sleep with him...it seemed like something that would scare him away completely. You didn’t want to rush this, to rush what you had with him. Sex was of little consequence as long as he was there.

“What?”

“You do draw live models right? Or you have done?” Steve had drawn a lot of things, you couldn’t imagine a naked woman wasn’t one of them, maybe in a more professional setting but...he had to have right? Pin ups, maybe? He’d at least drawn you at the club in less clothing than was respectable. 

“I mean...yeah..”

“So draw me.” Steve had two looks when he was unsure about something; one was the ‘are _you_ sure about this’ look and two was the ‘am _I_ sure about this’ look. Currently he had the former on his face meaning he didn’t mind the idea, which meant that you could 100% get him to do it...and god did you want to. It was perhaps a strange want to lie still for however long, naked on a piece of furniture. But it was the thought that it might spur Steve to actually act on a few less than pure thoughts that made it so appealing. You’d been wonderfully restrained ever since you met Steve...but it didn’t help that some nights dreams consisted of drawing painted nails down across his skin and leaning over him with thighs straddling his waist. 

“You do know that that means no clothes, right?”

“Oh, i’m well aware.” You started to untie the sash to your dressing gown, the cotton falling away and off your shoulders as you stood there in just your night dress which was nothing more than a slip of cotton. You didn’t need to look to know that the cold had peaked your nipples as did Steve’s gaze as they were drawn to them peaking through the fabric. You did really want to help with his art dilemma but another part of you simply wanted him to go for the one thing the two of you had been avoiding. 

He didn’t, he coughed, red filling his cheeks as he averted his gaze. It was cute, not what you wanted him to do, but it was cute nonetheless. “Uh...alright...okay...just...uh...”

You didn’t wait for him to finish knowing that he was struggling as it was to get words out. You simply slid your night dress over your head and let it fall to the floor. “How do you want me?” You’d never seen a man struggle so much with a female body in your life, especially a man who regularly drew you at a club where you wore little clothing. Sure he’d never seen you naked and he’d never seen you naked purely for his benefit...but still. 

Steve obviously didn’t know where to look, his eyes didn’t stay in one place until he finally decided your face was a good place to keep his gaze, if he was red in the face before now he was like a fire engine, the colour spreading to his neck and probably lower. 

“Uh, just...lie on the couch...?” You watched him stand up from the settee and swapped placed with him as he grabbed a chair and sat it in front of where you were now draped over the sofa.

“Just...move your right arm a little more behind your head?” You followed each little instruction until you were posed how Steve wanted you. It was undeniably a vulnerable position being lain out like that, but it also felt like a powerful position like baring your throat to someone, trusting them, but also putting yourself at risk. Although you trusted Steve so implicitly you weren’t sure he had it in him to hurt someone without a serious reason, he didn’t hurt people without a reason and you knew he’d never intentionally hurt you. 

It was an altogether new experience to have someone look at you the way Steve did when he was drawing you. The way his eyes drifted over each part of you was intense in itself, there wasn’t anything inherently sexual about his gaze, it was the gaze of an artist with a muse...but it didn’t stop the shiver running through you because no matter how much you denied it having Steve look at you like that, really look at you, was incredibly arousing. 

You didn’t notice that you’d moved, that one leg had moved slightly more forward with the urge to rub your thighs together, the need to produce friction, to quell the tingling at your core. The moment it happened you watched Steve put his sketchbook down, stand from the chair he’d been sitting on and move towards you. A cold, shaking hand smoothing along the skin of your thigh before moving your leg back into its original place. 

His hand didn’t move, and neither did you, your eyes watched him, watched the way his tongue flicked across his bottom lip, the shifting of his eyes over your skin, the twitch of his fingers against your thigh. It was still for mere moments before he leant forward and pressed his lips against yours rather harshly, his hand on your thigh tightening its grip. 

It took you by surprise the harsh press of his lips against yours, the way he bit at your lip and slide his tongue inside your mouth without asking. Steve had never been that forward before and it had you gasping into his mouth and your hands scrabbling to curl into his hair, tugging at the strands and pulling your mouth from his when you could feel his chest heaving a little too much. “Hello there” Your pressed your forehead against his and let him catch his breath, felt his hand still gripping your thigh, fingers curled into the flesh as he leant over you.

“Hi” You lips met again in a kiss and as you did you moved to push him against the settee settling above him, thighs either side of his hip and hands pressing into the fabric beside his head. Graphite smudged hands gripped your ass, pressing into the flesh as you moved the kisses to the underside of his jaw and neck, sucking at the skin exposed there and drew a quiet moan from his throat. 

You sat up, hands falling to the buttons of his shirt, twiddling them but not undoing them just yet, “Is this what you want?” Steve’s chest was heaving underneath you and you needed to know that he wanted this and that he was up to it. His hands were still pressed into your ass and as much as you felt you knew his answer, without one you wouldn’t keep going.

“Yeah, do you?” 

“More than anything.” With the confirmation from him you started to unbutton his shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons as you pressed kisses to each new bit of skin that was revealed, nipping across his chest, palm sliding down to palm him through his trousers feeling him harden. 

The hands on your ass slid over your hips and up your torso, cold hands with long dexterous fingers cupped your breasts as you continued to undress him. He only pulled away to help you remove his shirt entirely from him, leaving his torso bare and pale in front of you. There was something so powerful about straddling and leaning over this small, lithe man; his chest was heaving, his lips were red, little marks had started to appear on his skin from your mouth and the hardness of his cock underneath you told you all needed about how much he was enjoying this. 

You rocked against him, your lips pulling away from his chest as he worked at your breasts, your head tilting back even further when he reached up to press kisses to the skin there, before enveloping a nipple in his warm mouth, tongue pressing against the sensitive bud as the other was pressed and moulded by his hand. 

You were almost shocked by how wet you were but then you realised you’d been waiting on this for so long, this wasn’t just your hand, this was a man and it was Steve as well. It was a million fantasies brought to life, it was the socially unacceptable that just felt so damn good. Or maybe it was just Steve. 

You tugged at his belt, working to undo it as he continued to lavish attention on your breasts before moving to the junction between your shoulder and neck. He bit and sucked the spot drawing a moan from your throat as your hands stilled for a moment before returning to their original purpose. You eagerly unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers sliding off of him almost reluctant to break the contact, before helping him out of the rest of his clothes.

You almost moaned at the sight of him; pale skin flushed red, canting hips rising in the air as if waiting for you to slide over him, his cock hard and wanting, beading pre-cum at the tip. He was a sight that had your legs trembling as you moved over him again, thighs gripping his hips tightly as you settled over him and crushed your mouth back against his with fervour. Your teeth biting into his lip and your tongue snaking in at the gasp he let out as your hand slid beneath you to grip him lightly. 

Your hand ran painted nails lightly over him, teasing the sensitive skin, a thumb smearing the collected pre-cum as you worked him gently underneath him. You watched Steve, head thrown back against the arm of the settee, eyes closed tightly, mouth agape and throat working with gasps that sent warmth and heat to your core, the urge to find some sort of friction growing with every second. 

Your guided his cock brushing it over your clit and towards your slit, wetness clinging to him as you rocked lightly against him for a few moments before sinking down onto him slowly. Your eyes closed at the sensation of his cock seated within you, your mouth falling open with gasping breathes at the feeling and your hands falling to his chest, nails curling into his skin. 

You forced your eyes open, “You okay?” Your hand left his chest, cupping his jaw and making him open his eyes and look at you. No one had ever looked at you with such reverence, such awe, as if you were a literal goddess planted on his hips, as if this was some sort of biblical experience...you were sure you’d looked at him much the same throughout it all. 

“Yeah...” His voice was sinfully deep as he groaned it out, the word turning into an unintelligible groan as you started to roll your hips before using his chest as leverage and lifting yourself up damn near off of his cock before falling back down. 

Steve lifted his hips up to you as you helped him set a pace, your thighs and arms working to lift yourself up and down over him, the sound of slapping flesh, and slick noises growing louder as the pace increased. Steve’s chest wheezed and every time you looked down at him he nodded reassuring you that he was okay. 

You leant back slightly at just the right time for him to hit a spot in you you didn’t know existed, a shiver falling through your body, “ _Stevie_ ” falling from your lips like a mantra as the two of you continued to hit that spot that coiled and coiled heat within you and had your rhythm faltering each time you took his cock inside you. 

“Baby... _baby i’m close.._ ” You’d never heard something so utterly beautiful fall from his mouth. 

At some point your hands found his, curling your fingers together as you placed your joined hands beside his head, using the leverage to keep moving, your forehead pressing against Steve’s as the two of you gasped and moaned in the small space between the two of you. Each movement had your abdomen clenching and your body shaking, until you came. Calling out Steve’s name and pressing your hands into the settee firmly. 

The feeling of you cumming around his cock had him finally reaching his end with a gasping breath, the two of you exhausted and covered in sweat, slick and cum trailing down your inner thigh. Despite your protesting muscles you slid off of Steve curling carefully beside him so as not to crush him. Everything shook and ached, the forgotten drawing still on the floor and part of you thought nude modelling was a lot more fun then you expected. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to change canon slightly, so Steve won’t be used for war bonds but rather go straight into war and doing stuff abroad if that makes sense? Probably because I like to cause you guys more pain :/

Steve and you lived in what could almost be described as domestic bliss, you tried your best to find a job, still having been relatively unsuccessful but with new interviews lined up soon that you hoped would prove fruitful, while Steve did his art and worked hard to bring in the money to keep you both housed. He never gave up on trying to enlist.

And perhaps that’s why when he came back from that goddamn expo with Bucky, after you decided to stay in far too tired to go out to that fancy thing, you weren’t surprised that he held a form that showed they’d officially let him in the army. He was going to go to training and then he was going to go to war...and you’d have to sit at home, twiddle your thumbs and hope you didn’t get told he’d died. That’s if they even decided to tell you.

The domestic bliss, the loving sex, the time you’d had deluding yourself that he wouldn’t leave, shattered into a million tiny pieces and you couldn’t pick them back up to glue them back together. They were too small, too fragile. So instead you slept in the bath tub that night, the door locked, listening to Steve on the other side ask you to come to bed, beg you to come out, that he was sorry but he had to do this. He didn’t, but you knew that part of him had a compulsion to, you’d always known that. So why did it hurt so much now that it was happening? Maybe because now you had a home, a lover, a life that was supposed to keep getting better. He wasn’t supposed to leave now not after everything and now Bucky was leaving as well. 

It felt like the two people you’d finally found who cared about you were just leaving and you’d be left alone. Bucky, the brotherly figure who looked after you and made sure you were okay when Steve couldn’t, was going to be gone. Steve, the lover who believed in you and everything you did, who told you he loved you only recently, was leaving and might never come back. You had nothing but fear and pain and the uncomfortable nature of the bath tub didn’t even register because they were going. First Bucky and then Steve and then you’d be alone. 

You opened the door the next morning and shook your head at Steve who was curled up by the door on the floor. His back was going to kill him, the idiot. Kneeling down you gently shook him, “Stevie...Stevie wake up.” The man slowly came to, his eyes blinking heavily and the moment he was standing you moved away from him again and towards the kitchen. You shouldn’t be angry at him and part of you wasn’t sure this was anger, that rather it was pain, the fear of what was going to happen.

“Are...are you going to keep ignoring me until I leave? Till you don’t see me again?” Your hands curled around the counter top in front of you and you felt the tears collecting in your eyes, burning and stinging as you tried to stop them from falling. 

“So that’s it? I finally get to do this and you’re angry with me? What happened to ‘Steve, you’ll get in, if it happens it happens!’” He was angry now, he had more right to be then you did. Of course you’d been supporting him for months, telling him that it was okay, that he’d eventually get in or that if it was supposed to happen then it would and now it was happening...and now you weren’t supporting him because it was all too much.

“What do you want me to do, Steve?! I’m losing not only my friend but also my boyfriend! I’m going to be alone while you’re off getting yourself killed! I’m terrified! I love you and i’m terrified!” You and Steve had never fought before, the closest you’d gotten was you telling him off for being reckless or stupid when he got into fights. But this wasn’t that, this was a real fight, filled with yelling and tears falling down your cheeks as you turned to him. 

He faltered, taking in the way you were crying, the fact that it wasn’t anger...he knew anger, he’d been on the receiving end of it a lot, no, that was pain. He sighed heavily, sitting down on the edge of the coffee table, “I know...i’d be terrified too...I am terrified, but I have to do this...”

“You don’t.”

“I do,” He stood, bare feet padding their way towards you before he was in front of you taking your face in cold, shaking hands, hands that were so familiar and that you might never feel again, “I love you...and when I get back-” One of his hands reached into his trouser pocket and you looked down, eyes catching on the little box and the little thing sat inside it, “I’ll marry you, the day I’m back, we’ll get married...if that’s what you want?”

Part of you wanted to say no, to say you didn’t want even more pain when he didn’t come back, but you knew that was a lie. Steve had completely captured your heart the moment you met him and from that point on you were a goner, whether he was leaving or staying you’d always say yes. 

“Okay...but you need to come back...I can’t...I can’t do this without you,” What you really meant was you couldn’t live without him smiling at you every morning, without him drawing you when you weren’t looking, without the feeling of his shirts hanging off your shoulders, and the cold press of his skin. He was your world. You weren’t sure you’d be able to find someone else after Steve, you weren’t sure you’d want to either. 

“I’m going to come back. I promise,” The ring was slid onto your left hand, cold metal against your skin and it wasn’t much, not really, but it was what you two would have been able to afford and it was the mere thought that mattered. That he’d thought about this. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” You wrapped your arms around his waist pulling him into an embrace, you tried to memorise how it felt. The bump of his ribs, the stroking of his hands over your back, the feeling of his shoulder beneath your cheek, the smell of sandalwood and soap. Steve was doing the exact same thing, no matter how much he said he had to leave, he was scared too. Scared of never seeing you again, he had a good thing with you. 

You pulled away, Steve was leaving in a few days. Training. Part of you wondered if he wouldn’t die in training, if his body wouldn’t collapse under all that pressure, he wasn’t healthy. Anyone who looked at him knew that something like a military boot camp could very well kill him...that worried you more than anything, worried that never seeing him again was a much realer reality than it seemed.

You walked to a drawer, and tugged it open, shifting through the items inside. Past sewing kits, past combs, past letters shoved inside and found what you were looking for. The two of you didn’t have many photos. It wasn’t something that either of you could afford, the camera Steve had was old, the film expensive and the development of that film even more so. But this was a photo that the two of you did have.

It was of you and Steve, Bucky had taken it, the two of you had gone to Coney Island. In the photo Steve had his head thrown back in a laugh, his arm around your waist after you’d said something obviously hilarious, you were simply staring at him. The type of stare that was simply adoring, a look that said more than words did. You took the photo in your hand, closed the drawer and walked back towards him, pressing it into his hands.

“Keep it with you? Come back to me.” 

“Always.” 

Your eyes flitted over his face for a few seconds, taking it in. The high cheek bones, the thin face, the dark circles under his eyes, the hair that fell forward. Before you moved forward to hold him again.

For the next few days, the last few moments Steve had before getting on a train and going to some godforsaken training camp, you spent every second with Steve. Dinners, walks, making love, telling stories. Anything and everything, you did it with Steve. You wanted to make the most of your final few days together, wanted to say that you had as much time as you could get with him. He didn’t know that you cried at night after he fell asleep. He didn’t need to know that. 

And then you were there, stood on a train platform, smoothing out his clothes and watching him get on the train. A last kiss being your final contact before he was on the train and moving towards a future you couldn’t control. It terrified you. 

You were alone, but safe. Both Steve and Bucky were somewhere else and most decidedly not safe. You decided you didn’t much like this war or what it was going to do. 


	12. Chapter 12

Every month you received a slip through the door. Steve had started diverting his military pay to you, something about not needing it. While he was in training you managed to find yourself a job, it was in a shop not the best of jobs but not the worst and it paid enough that you’d started putting money aside for things like a wedding or going back to school. Working helped distract you from the fact that Steve wasn’t around, that he was gone. It kept your mind and body busy and it made you feel like you were finally contributing to the house....that now no longer had Steve in it. But mostly it stopped you breaking down each day. 

Every so often you would get letters from Steve, from Bucky. Bucky’s had a false sense of cheer, everything about them read wrong. Like he didn’t want to tell the truth; that he was struggling, that the war was a bad, sad place. But you could tell. Sometimes his letters had blood or mud on them in little increments. That scared you more than the false words. 

Steve’s letters were more frustrated. Letters that told how people treated him like they always had, letters about how he needed to prove himself, letters upon letters that told you that boot camp wasn’t being as kind to him as perhaps he’d hoped it would be or you’d hoped it would be. He never mentioned if he was physically struggling and that worried you, but you put it aside and thought that at least you were getting letters. At least you knew he was well enough to write. 

The nature of these letters changed, one day it was a letter that told you he’d been picked to do something that he couldn’t talk about. That one had worried you, another you’d received had been a letter that probably shouldn’t have made its way through censoring, a photo of Steve. But it wasn’t the Steve you remembered, he was big and beefy and tall and part of you mourned the loss of your small man...but part of you hoped he was still there just in a different body. Then the letters started coming that he’d been sent out to fight. Letters from the road, letters with mud smeared on the edges and shaky pen writing, letters that told you how much he missed you each and every day. Letters that you kept locked away in a box, each a tiny part of him. 

Then Bucky’s stopped coming and you thought for sure that was it, until they started again. Letters you’d found were a double edged sword. They could be as relieving as they could be terrifying. One later could remind you that they were okay and another could remind you that they were in danger every day. 

They also reminded you of how much you missed people, how much you missed Bucky and Steve. 

Waking up in an empty bed wasn’t the same as waking up beside Steve, resting your chin on your palm and trailing painted nails over his cheek gently until he woke up. Dinner alone wasn’t the same as eating across from Steve, laughing at something he said and running to get a glass of water when he almost inhaled his food and started coughing. Coming home to an empty house wasn’t the same as coming home to find Steve at his desk or on the settee drawing. At one point Steve had never been a part of your life, an empty apartment was something you could deal with. But now he was such an intrinsic part of you that as years started to pass the need to see him grew almost like a very real pain in your chest. 

You weren’t the only woman or person around who had that feeling. Almost everyone knew at least someone who was away in the war; fathers, husbands, brothers, cousins, fiancés, friends. 

There was always someone who had gone and there was always someone who wasn’t coming home. That was what you dreaded most, the waiting. Waiting for the day the war ended but also waiting for something to happen to Steve before the end, before he could come home. Maybe you were cynical or maybe you were just scared, but every day was another day of fear that a letter would come through the door telling you that he’d died in action. That he’d died serving a country that original didn’t want him, a country that had always told him what he could and couldn’t be. 

Part of you never thought a letter would actually come through that door. 


	13. Chapter 13

But that letter did come through the door. It had been like any other day, you’d gotten dressed, gone to work and completed your shift before returning home. 

You were preparing to make dinner when a knock came from the door to the apartment, you wiped your hands against the apron around your waist and started towards it. There was a sense of dread filling you through the walk. Part of you didn’t want to turn the door handle, part of you could already sense that something was dreadfully wrong, that this wasn’t a good knock. But you turned the handle anyway, and opened the door.

You nearly collapsed when you saw that man stood there, military uniform, a letter and a flag in his hands, a look of sympathy on his face. But the look was one of someone who’d had to do this time and time again. He symbolised everything you didn’t want, everything you didn’t need.

“No...” He didn’t answer you, simply put the items in your shaking hands, “I’m sorry, Ma’am.” and then he left. You weren’t sure how long you stood in your doorway looking at the flag folded perfectly and the letter that was white and pristine. Just staring, wishing they’d disappear that it was all a dream, a figment of your imagination. A bad nightmare. But it wasn’t.

You stepped back into the apartment the door closing heavily as you made your way to the sofa where you soon collapsed, everything in you felt heavy as you stared at that letter. Your arms, your legs, your head, and your heart. You could already feel the tears welling in your eyes but that feeling in your chest, that heavy feeling was almost numb as if you just shut down, you couldn’t possibly...you turned the envelope over, a painted nail sliding underneath the closed flap and opening it before dragging out a letter. 

Dead. KIA. Plane. Bravery. Died for his country. Honour. Good man. Good Soldier. Steven. Pension. Condolences. Gone. All these words blurring together or maybe that was just your tears and every one of them made you angry. 

They asked him to fight, they made him able to and now he was gone and it was all their fault. You didn’t think your heart could heart more than it did in that moment, but then you read the last little sentence. 

James Buchanan Barnes.

And your world crumbled completely because it wasn’t just your fiancé, your soon to be husband that had left you, that had died for a country that didn’t care...but it was James too. Bucky, your friend. And you were alone. So very alone in the great expanse of Brooklyn, of the world.

No friends. No family. Only two dead men with no bodies to be buried. No bodies to say goodbye to. Just empty caskets. The anger you felt was so great, you wanted to ask the president _WHY?! Why them?! Why my boys?_ You wanted to scream, shout, cry...but all you did was reread those words as if you’d misread, as if reading it again would change what that letter said. But it didn’t. It was still the same they were both dead and you were...alone. 

You went to the funerals, in fact you arranged Steve’s. With the money that was supposed to be for your wedding. Both were closed casket, no bodies to bury and no men to see and say farewell too. It didn’t feel real without a body. It felt wrong. 

Hardly anyone was at Steve’s, people only knew him as Captain America. Not Steve Rogers. The Barnes’ were there and you, along with a few people from around town but that was it. You watched the casket be lowered, watched dirt fall. You didn’t leave the graveside for hours. 

You always put sunflowers on Steve’s grave. They were bright, happy. They reminded you of how he made you feel each and every day that you were with him. The light that he brought to your life and into everything he did. They reminded you of him, of how he was always reaching for the light always trying to grow towards it.

You never took your ring off, not when you were 30, not when you were 40, not when you were 50, 60, 70, 80...Men tried to court you, date you, but you always said no. The memory of Steve was as fresh as a new bloom. You always said you weren’t sure if you’d be able to move on after Steve and it turned out you couldn’t. You lived with some pets, but...other than that you lived and died alone. With each memory of the months you had together in your mind, of the boy who dragged you from a burlesque club, who kept you alive while you were unemployed, who was so beautiful in every way.

The memory of him and of Bucky was forever seared into your memory. When you died the last of the Barnes family had you buried next to Steve or rather next to Steve’s empty grave. They knew that would have been what you wanted, to be near him. They were the only people who turned up at your funeral. 

Then when it turned out he was alive...they had never felt more sorrow for a human being then they did for you. You’d spent your life mourning a man who wasn’t really dead...you’d spent your life wondering where his body was, unable to put your mind or heart at rest without a proper burial without knowing...and yet here he was alive and there you were dead. A role reversal of the ages. A heavy heart was not something they could shake easily after that. 


	14. 70 Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was asked to do an epilogue from Steve's POV after he wakes up. Enjoy angsty hell.

The first thing he thought about when he came out of the ice was you. You in shiny costumes, you dancing to music and swaying with feather fans. You smiling in your shared apartment, telling him about your day, telling him what jobs you had interviews for. You as he left for war, sad and worried, but never telling him so because you didn’t want to stop him leaving. You in the photograph he kept in his pocket at all times. You in the letters you sent to him. You. You. You.

It was his first thought, other than how strange everything was. But, he found himself scared to ask about you. It took him weeks and even then he didn’t ask, only found a file on his bed (Natasha most likely). It look innocent enough. Files always do, but everything inside broke his heart.

He’d hoped you’d moved on, found a nice guy, had a few kids, and live a full life. You hadn’t. You lived alone. Never married. Never had kids. Never it seems had any relationship with anyone. Just you...and he hated that he had left you alone, that he had stopped your life from continuing. Had he never met you maybe you would have been better off, happy...but he couldn’t imagine never having met you, loved you, been with you....

And that was the crux of the problem frozen for 70 years and he still felt like he did the day he ‘died’, he still loved you just as much, but you were dead and actually dead unlike him and you weren’t coming back...and now he was the one that had to live with heartache and pain and he deserved it. He knew he did. You had to live with that pain for so long and now it was only fair that he returned the favour. That he suffered too.


End file.
